Reflect
by Bakura's Guardian Angel
Summary: He often blames mirrors for being untrue." It's become a sort of mantra. Avoid the mirrors. Mirrors love to deceive. Mirrors love to lie. Short, Sweet, and To The Point. Ryou POV on why he doesn't like mirrors.


_A/N: _I wrote this in the midst of my lengthy Outcast/Blueshipping fic (seriously. It's at 15 pages already) and wrote this on a whim. It's another "vague" oneshot. I don't want to explain too much because I think what makes it interesting is taking your own perspective on it.

_

* * *

_

_"Il accusait toujours les miroirs d'e" tre faux."  
~He was always blaming mirrors for being untrue.~  
-Jean de La Fontaine-_

* * *

The mirrors are laughing again.

I avoid them.

It's become a mantra, in a way. Don't look in the mirrors. Because I've learned things about mirrors: Mirrors love to deceive. They love to show you all the secret things that are so simple to overlook—when you aren't alone… _You look good today, Bakura-kun. You're so funny, Bakura-kun. Why don't you talk more, Bakura-kun?_

But find yourself in solitude, and a mirror becomes an enemy.

They love to tell you all of your mistakes and flaws. No, not the simple petty mistakes that typical people are so keen to dwell on, and not the flaws of physical appearance. I mean the mistakes of the soul, the flaws of spirit.

And those are the most painful.

Especially because, above all else, mirrors love to lie.

Lie, lie, lie. Was there ever a mirror created who didn't tell its owner nothing but lies? There's no other explanation. I know this. How often have I rolled it over in my mind, trying with all my might to find the meaning behind that alternate reality just beyond reach…? It must be lies, illusions, because what other explanation can there be for mirrors who depict false images. Mirrors who distort and warp. Mirrors who laugh.

_What is this, Master? Are you not satisfied? _I think to myself, covering up the mirrors in my small, cramped, nondescript, and lifeless apartment. I cover them, every last one. And I avoid my own gaze staring back at me as I stretch up to fix the thick black sheets in place. Because even the eyes, reflected back from a world of silver glass, are laughing.

Laughing.

Laughing.

Eyes that are red. Eyes that glow with the luster of freshly spilled blood. Eyes that tell of a dark and murderous past. Eyes thirsty for power and vengeance.

A lie; because I will not—_will not—_believe that those are my eyes.

_Who else's eyes, then, Master? The only one here is you. _My thoughts carry me down dark paths that I find myself unable to avoid. It seems that I carry this permeating darkness with me, although if asked I could not give a reason why.

_But don't you know? _The mirror chuckles as I throw a sheet over its misleading surface. But, whether by simple coincidence, or cruel fate playing a spiteful trick, the black sheet slips and falls behind the mirror to the floor behind what used to be my mothers large vanity.

And the mirror looks back at me, a vicious wolf-like smile creeping onto its face. I cringe slightly, and the mirror mimics my movement. I lift my hand and touch the mirrors ice-cold surface, and it is as though that demonic mockery is reaching out to grasp my hand.

_The truth hurts, doesn't it Master?_ I think.

But it can't be an honest statement because the mirror is lying.

(Avoid the mirrors. The mirrors are lying…)

The mirror chuckles again and whispers, _Denial. _And I feel my lips form the same syllables; taste the word on my tongue.

"No!" I say loudly, but the reflection merely throws its head back and laughs.

Malicious.

Unending.

Insane.

Laughter.

I struggle to grasp the black cloth from behind the heavy vanity, but what would save me from that horrible laughter is just beyond reach. I hold back a scream of fear and loathing—loathing for that thing that stares back at me from a world that exists only in my imagination. I try to stop the laughter, I cover my ears, I whisper lies of my own.

But I can't escape it. It's everywhere, as infecting as a disease. It's in my head; it shakes my entire self, raising gooseflesh on every inch of my skin. Malicious. Unending. Insane.

A last resort. _You think to escape? _I ask myself, or is it the mirror asking me? I don't know anymore. My only thought is to end that laughter. Please, just make it go away. I grip the hammer tightly in both hands and return to face the mirror. All I see is my own reflection now, my true reflection, but the mirror still deceives because the laughter hasn't stopped. It's everywhere.

So I pull my arms back and swing.

The hammer meets the glass in a shower of silver. Hundreds upon thousands of reflecting shards spray to my feet. My arm bleeds where a large piece caught and shredded the skin. But I don't care. The mirror will tell no more lies. It will not deceive me. And it will not laugh.

…_Ah, Master, if only it were that easy. _

And the laughter (malicious, unending, insane) resumes.

I collapse to the ground and lie in a heap among thousands of pieces of a shattered illusion. And, with tears streaming down my face, I laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

* * *

A/N: So, I found the quote AFTER I wrote the story, but isn't it perfect? Anyways, I have a question! Should I update things (oneshots, chapters, etc.) less and write longer works of fiction. OR should I intermittently write things like this that are short, sweet, and to the point? Do people (you) like this type of oneshot that is short and relatively plotless?

Please leave your opinions and thoughts on the Fic in a Review! (Please? My review rates have plummeted recently and its the only way I know what people think of my work and if I should write different etc.) SO **REVIEW!**

**Review Goal: 10**


End file.
